


Cheers

by potterbite



Category: Once Upon a Time (TV)
Genre: Drunken Confessions, F/M, Second Kiss
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-01-22
Updated: 2014-01-22
Packaged: 2018-01-09 15:55:56
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,073
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1147861
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/potterbite/pseuds/potterbite
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>When Emma told Hook that she needed time, she wasn't expecting him to start avoiding her; she fully expected him to fight for her, to give her speeches containing ridiculously outdated words, to look her deep in the eyes and she would just know he was the one for her. [Drunk Emma, helpful Killian.]</p>
            </blockquote>





	Cheers

When Emma told Hook that she needed time, she wasn't expecting him to start avoiding her; she fully expected him to fight for her, to give her speeches containing ridiculously outdated words, to look her deep in the eyes and she would just know he was the one for her.

Crap. The one for her? Who spoke – or thought – like that?

Even in her mind her parents happily ever after managed to sneak in and poison simple relationships, making it much more complicated than it had to be.

(Not that she had a relationship of any sort with Hook).

(Really, no feelings were involved whatsoever).

She felt ridiculous about wanting him to do all of that, since she had managed just fine without anyone fighting for her before.

But damn it, she wanted someone to do it, just once so she could feel like she was worth loving in that way.

Instead, that insufferable, flirty, too-hot-for-his-own-good stupid idiot had vanished from the face of the earth, or at least from the face of Emma's earth. And she loathed every single second of it.

This was, of course, why she sat by the bar at the Rabbit hole, alone on a Saturday night; Henry was with his father, insisting they should be spend some time together, just the two of them.

When she got to her third drink she started flirting with the bartender, because she didn't care if he was interested or not, didn't care if anyone heard the sheriff behaving inappropriately; she just didn't care.

When she downed her fifth one in a single, large gulp, her vision started to blur around the edges and she felt an instant need to lie down to make the world stop spinning around her, so she got up from the barstool, intent on finding someplace to lie down – maybe the girls' bathroom was available – and fell over instantly, twisting her ankle as she did so.

"Stupid motherfu–," she started to curse the instant she felt the burning pain, realizing she had not had nearly enough to drink if she could still feel pain. Wasn't drinking supposed to numb it? Not even getting pissed drunk was something she seemed to be able to do right.

It was the fucking pirate's fault.

(Obviously).

(Who else?)

As she lay slash sat at the floor, cursing over her damn ankle, she did not immediately recognize the hand that covered her mouth and interrupted her mid-curse. Then suddenly, without any warning, the scent reached her nostrils and despite herself, her eyes widened as she turned her head slowly toward him.

The asshole was smirking at her. Fucking smirking, like he was having a really funny inside joke with himself.

She fumbled to remove his hand from her mouth, ignoring any emotion rushing through her body at his perfect, intoxicating scent.

She tried to get up – ungracefully so – to get rid of him as quickly as she could, feeling her need for escape taking over. However, being as drunk as she was – which was still too sober than she had intended for that evening – this did not work out at all in her favor, and she stumbled into his arms.

The smell of him got even more intense, and she knew that the moment he spoke she would lose all control she had, so she tried her best to be out from his sight before he got the chance.

"Woah, easy there, love," he said in a breathy voice as he held her under her arms like a child not able to stand up straight on her own.

Craptastic night with a topping of crap, why not put Hook in that mix as well? she thought to herself, barely fighting a smile.

No, she really shouldn't speak in this condition. Who knows what horrible things that might come out?

"You, Mr. Hookilookilook," she was able to get out, poking a finger hard in his chest, "suck."

Well, so much for not speaking to him.

"Is that so?" he said, sounding amused. "Why?"

"No," Emma pouted. "Don't ask me, I'm so bloody drunk I might tell you all."

She did not miss the smile playing in the corner of his mouth.

(That could have been because she kept staring at his delicious looking lips).

(Maybe).

He hoisted her up by her arms and started to lead her outside as he continued to speak.

"Perhaps that's the intriguing part, love."

Emma put out her bottom lip even further and furrowed her brows deep. "Why do you always say such perfect things, but whenever I want you around you are nowhere to be found?"

She didn't get an answer to her question immediately as she was hit by the cold air, feeling ten times as sober – but knowing she really was still just as drunk. She removed herself from him to be able to stand in front of him, only limping slightly.

"Well?" she pressed on, trying her best to focus her gaze on him and keeping it steady.

"I don't know what to tell you honestly," he began after a few seconds of staring intently at her. "I was gone for a single day. I just wanted to stretch the Jolly's legs a bit."

"It was a day and a night," Emma muttered as she placed her arms across her chest. He laughed at her – or maybe he was laughing with her – and the next thing she knew, her lips were on his, neither one of them quite sure of how it happened.

It was not an elegant kiss, nor was it anything like the one in Neverland; it was sloppy, tongues and lips moving out of sync, both of them panting heavily.

Still, it somehow managed to make Emma feel very light, almost as if she were flying. She fought desperately for the right words needing to put a stop to whatever it was she was feeling.

"Killian, I –"

"What did you call me?"

She met his excruxiatingly blue eyes, prepared to come up with a very thorough explanation when she felt something bubbling in her chest. Laughter?

If only.

For the next ten minutes, Killian held Emma's hair as she sat doubled over by a bush and puked like there was no tomorrow, and even though he would not dare show her, he grinned so wide it almost hurt, feeling happier than he could remember being in a really long time.


End file.
